


For Next Time

by annwritesfics



Series: The Morning After [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, Except neither of them want to admit the feelings, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I definitely like the first one better than this one, It just happened, Name-Calling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slapping, and the feelings are only briefly touched on, are you proud of me, but i start writing porn about malcolm bright, dont know what happens, i didnt choose to make the first one, i literally cannot title anything, lookie i wrote a part two, this will probably be the last part for this thingy tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annwritesfics/pseuds/annwritesfics
Summary: "Malcolm. Knew you'd call."Of course he'd called. He didn't have anything better to do and he'd been thinking about her since he'd read the damn note."How fast can you be here?""Oh? And here I was thinking you'd decided that was a one-time thing. Give me fifteen minutes."
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Original Female Character(s), Malcolm Bright/Reader
Series: The Morning After [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555246
Kudos: 52





	For Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the first one in this series I spent more time on it than my mom did on me when I was a child. Also some stuff in this one might make a little less sense without the context of the first one

"Malcolm. Knew you'd call."

Of course he'd called. He didn't have anything better to do and he'd been thinking about her since he'd read the damn note.

"How fast can you be here?"

"Oh? And here I was thinking you'd decided that was a one-time thing. Give me fifteen minutes."

He hung up and ran his fingers through his hair. Holy shit, he was stupid. Despite the lack of consequences their last meeting had brought (besides the deep feeling of regret he had been expecting), he still knew this was a bad idea.

He'd decided to stop thinking by the time she knocked on his door, knowing in the back of his mind that it wouldn't do to actually think the situation through. That might lead to good decisions, and he definitely wasn't in the mood for one of those right now.

She was wearing a tank top and shorts, which was kind of weird considering that it was thirty degrees outside, maximum. But then again, she probably thought less clothing worn was less clothing to track down in the morning when she left.

"I was expecting you to call, but not so soon. I mean, not that I'm complaining, but what's the occasion?"

He rolled his eyes, stepping aside so she could come in. She did, taking her top off and throwing it to the side unceremoniously.

"We already discussed this last time. About the shutting up."

Following her lead, he began unbuttoning his shirt. She slid her shorts down her legs, staring at him as she did so. She turned around to step out of them, and he did his best to pretend like he both didn't care and wasn't looking, still not entirely willing to voluntarily give her any sort of satisfaction. He did care and he was looking, though.

"Oh, but you love it when I talk dirty. Might I remind you that I had you wrapped around my finger last time just because I called you a slut? Honestly, you should probably get over yourself and admit you like it."

"I might be regretting this already."

"And you probably should be, but we both know that you aren't exactly the king of common sense. Or intelligence in general. Really, I don't know how you've survived this long."

Had it been anybody else, those comments might have been terribly offensive. Truthfully, they still were, but in this context he could let it slide as long as she was in his bed in the next few minutes.

They moved towards each other, her in her underwear and him at least with his shirt discarded. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him nearer to her before pulling him down and kissing him gently. He didn't think he'd ever get over how she did that, or how often that type of kiss had been immediately followed by a hard slap when they were together. Well, he could hope.

He began moving backwards, trying to get to the bed. When it hit the back of his legs he pulled away from the kiss, assuming she'd do something. Instead, she watched him expectantly, and he suddenly found himself wishing she would make up her mind about how she acted in bed.

"Get on the bed," he ordered. Surprisingly, she obeyed, but it was with a look that told him this control was going to be short-lived.

Getting onto the bed next to her, he found he was right.

She straddled him, forcing him to lay down and bringing her face as close to his as possible.

"You like it when I call you names. Don't you, Malcolm? Little slut."

She moved down his body to where she could be sitting on his legs if she wanted to be. She reached up for his belt and unbuckled it.

"And I could call you a whole lot of things if it gets you going."

Her tone and the way she was forcing him to keep eye contact was ensuring that if he hadn't been turned on before, he sure as hell was now.

"I could call you a harlot."

She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

"A common whore."

She pushed them down far enough that he could finish kicking them off himself, only his boxers left.

"Basically, my bitch."

She pushed down his boxers and let his cock free, finally breaking eye contact to eye it hungrily.

Not what he had been expecting, but he definitely wouldn't say no. She was as good with her mouth as she was with anything else.

Her taking him all in her mouth and deep-throating him had also not been something he was expecting, but yet again welcome. If she wanted to choke on his cock, he would certainly let her.

(He did, of course, know she wouldn't choke- she didn't seem to have a gag reflex. Which, of course she didn't.)

He was all the way down her throat in seconds and he would have probably been annoyed at how good she was at everything if he hadn't also been all the way down her throat. As it was, the only thing he could think then was that her mouth was so fucking hot and this was so fucking hot and now he was glad he'd invited her over.

He instinctively reached down and tangled his hands in her hair, and she moved her head back up. He forced her back down just as quickly, which she didn't seem to mind. He made the mistake of looking down at her and saw her staring at him through her eyelashes, and he thought he might just come right then.

He knew that would have made her angry, so he did his absolute best not to. He'd had some experience with her blowing him before, and he had been allowed to come exactly one time. She usually liked to take care of herself afterwards and use him to do it.

(This wasn't to say he had come because of a blowjob only that one time- there was no way with her mouth. He just knew that she had been displeased the other few times, and he was generally looking to avoid that.)

She began bobbing her head, and he thought for a moment that maybe she would make him come like this just for the hell of it. But he also knew she knew what she was doing, and that wouldn't be happening unless she allowed it to.

His hands still in her hair, he tried to get her to move faster, yanking and tugging until she actually did. Which sort of surprised him.

He was close, he knew, and she probably knew, too. By the way he was tensing up and the small whines and moans filling the room every now and then. He was so fucking close, right on the edge, literally seconds away from an orgasm, and somehow she knew. He knew she knew because the second he thought he was going to come, she moved off his cock and sat up.

His body trembled slightly and he whined involuntarily at a build-up with no climax, and she gently ran her hand up his thigh to soothe him. It had the opposite effect, though, and he thought perhaps that that's what she had been meaning to happen.

He really wished she weren't so calm as she crawled up his body, sitting over him and giving him a self-satisfied smile. She had been meaning to do that, and he knew it, and she wanted to make sure that he did.

She leaned down and kissed him, and it wasn't gentle or rough or anything like what he would have expected at this point in their activities. It was just a kiss, lips on lips, and she pulled away seconds after she'd instigated it. It felt so much like one of those 'good morning' kisses she'd given him when they were together that it startled and unsettled him, much worse than a denied orgasm did.

A strange expression crossed her face, perhaps her realizing that she'd made a mistake, and she grabbed his face and smashed their lips together in an attempt to atone. It was all tongue this time, which was much more like what he would have expected.

She rolled over onto her back and forced him to follow, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him on top of her. Which was kind of weird, because usually that wasn't her thing. Or his, if he was being honest.

He pulled away long enough to get out a curious "What are you-" before she once again pressed her lips to his and effectively shut him up. With his hands on either side of her head, she moved her hands away and pushed down her panties.

Their tongues were still in each other's mouths, and he was once again unsure what she was going to do. It was always her taking the initiative during this stage, and he could count on one hand the times that had been different. He stayed unsure as she appeared to get frustrated, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer.

"Well?"

"Well?" he repeated, once again wishing she could pick a lane and stay in it.

"Come on, Malcolm."

He still wasn't sure what she wanted. He was so accustomed to her controlling him that it hadn't even occurred to him that she may relinquish control, or even consider it. It took long enough to register that she huffed before reaching in between his legs, grabbing his cock, and guiding it into her.

"You're such a useless whore. Honestly, I don't know why I bother with you."

She began rolling her hips like she usually did, but that still didn't seem to be enough. Her frustration grew until she reached up and slapped him, not nearly as hard as he knew she could.

"Goddamn, Malcolm. You have a brain up there? Try using it."

"I don't know what you-"

"Fuck me, Malcolm!"

He probably should have guessed from her behavior that that was what she wanted, but she also changed her mind so often he never could be entirely sure, and so he couldn't really wholly blame himself. He could, however, now decide to make up for lost time.

He positioned himself so that it would be easier to move, then apprehensively thrusted all the way into her. Out, and then in, trying to get a feel for how she was wanting it. Rough, obviously, but whether that was rough and fast or slower and bruising he couldn't quite tell.

Her legs, still around his waist, squeezed around him in an attempt to pull him closer. He sped up, and that seemed to be what she wanted, because she closed her eyes and let her head fall back.

"Now who's the pillow princess?" he teased, knowing from the way her body jolted that he had hit a good spot after his next thrust.

She slapped him again and then clenched around him, and his rhythm was suddenly thrown off, and he was reminded that she was allowing this to happen and she could make him stop at the drop of a hat.

Letting her arms hang off his neck, she began raising her hips to meet his thrusts, before one of her hands snuck between them to rub her clit. He was hitting her g-spot with surprising accuracy (all things considered it was amazing he'd hit it once because she usually did all the work), which seemed to be helping her along. As a result of her denying his orgasm earlier, he was on a relatively short fuse, and she could probably feel him struggling to keep his thrusts even.

Lucky for him, she seemed to have the same idea, because a few moments later she moaned and threw her head back and clenched around him so tightly he thought he might pass out. To top it off, she clung tightly to him and bit his shoulder, which sent him into his own orgasm. He came, hard, resting his forehead against her shoulder and blocking out everything except how he felt for that time.

He rode out his high as she was coming down from hers, and she ran her fingers through his hair to calm him as he began to come down. They laid there for a moment, holding each other, until they both realized that it might be a little too much like when they were together for their current arrangement.

He scrambled off of her and she scrambled off the bed, standing on shaky legs and grabbing her panties.

"Right. So, can I stay on your couch again?"

He was in no position to say no, and he kind of wanted her to stay again. His dislike for her was evaporating much quicker than he had hoped it would, even if he was mostly unwilling to admit it.

"Yeah, go ahead. You can clean yourself up first if you want. I'm just going to put my boxers on and go to bed."

Which she didn't need to know, but he had told her anyway. She smiled awkwardly at him and left the room, and he flopped back down on the mattress.

If she just weren't so fucking confusing all the damn time and if he could just make up his mind about what he felt about her.

He rolled out of the bed and put on his boxers, catching a glimpse of her walking into the bathroom. She was wearing his shirt again. He tried to pretend like he didn't like that idea.

In the morning, he once again noticed that his night terrors had been at least somewhat subdued. Instead of some great horror pulled from his subconscious to torture him, it was just bullshit about his father killing somebody. He'd seen that plenty of times before. Still unsettling, but by far not the worst thing he'd ever had.

He unfastened his restraints and got up, assuming she'd have left already. Instead, he found she'd folded her tank top and shorts and set them on his couch. She herself was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and bleary eyes. She had also just woken up, it seemed, except that she never took mornings as well as he did. Or at all.

She was still wearing his shirt, he noticed, and the thought occurred to him that he wanted to take it off of her himself. He told himself that totally wasn't an acknowledgement of his entirely-real-and-still-there feelings for her, and walked towards the counter, now resolved to make her morning a little bit better.


End file.
